


Cosset

by TaergaLive



Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [16]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: “'Astarion, please! Talk to me. Why are you so…?''Pissy? Oh, I’m very sorry, dear, if my behavior has upset you. But that’s what you get from harboring beasts, isn’t it?'”Vampires and hunters and owlbears, oh my!
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Wyll/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061618
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Cosset

**Author's Note:**

> Question and Answer time!  
> Q: Taerga, didn't you mention the monster hunter scene in another story?  
> A: Yes, now shut up  
> lol I just decided I actually wanted to write the scene out. 
> 
> Once again, I can't end things. :D

“What took you so long?”

“This one was harder to convince. Their kid kept putting up a fight.”

“Kid?”

“You brought a kid here?”

“For the love of-”

“He hates when we bring kids.”

“Finds them a tease.”

“Maybe he’ll let one of us have it.”

“More likely he’ll just rip its throat open and have us watch its blood spill to the floor.”

“Or feed it to the wolves.”

“Never let us have it.”

“I hate when he gets playful. So much blood, and we don’t get a drop.”

“Is everyone here?”

“Almost.”

_________________________________________

Never before has Astarion slept so much. 

Even before his vampirism. Typically, Astarion could content himself with the Reverie, feeling refreshed and ready to face the next day after only a few hours. For elves, sleeping is more like a hobby, something to do to pass the time. Now with his vampirism, he needs less time in the Reverie, and hardly did Cazador give him time or reason to sleep. 

But with Sephrin, he finds himself sleeping more and more. Sure, he could wiggle himself out of her arms if he wanted to, but even he has to admit the embrace feels nice. She mentioned just once that she tends to sleep better when he’s around, and now he’s been condemned to be around when she slumbers. Not that he minds. He finds it soothing as well. Sometimes when his thoughts veer onto darkened paths, he’ll feel Sephrin shift or she’ll take a deeper breath, and it pulls his thoughts to the present. 

Today she is curled up against him in the most peculiar fashion, her head resting just below his chest, her knees tucked against her stomach and next to his hips. How she can sleep that way, he’ll never understand. Every now and then, Sephrin’s hand grips the fabric of his shirt for a few moments before letting go, like a kitten kneading on its mother. Astarion doesn’t mind, just as long as he doesn’t end up with drool on him like yesterday. 

The sun starts to creep into the tent. Dawn at last. Astarion had forgotten just how long night can feel when one isn’t actively prowling the streets. He stretches his free arms out, trying his best to not wake Sephrin. As the sun peeks inside the tent, something glimmers nearby where their bags were resting. In the middle of the night, the bags shifted, and one fell over. Poor Sephrin almost had a heart attack, bolting up in fright. As soon as Astarion assured her it was merely their things, however, she laid right back down and went back to sleep with no trouble. That kept Astarion up for some time, not the bags falling but how easily Sephrin accepted his reply, how easily she trusted him to be telling the truth. He could have been lying, he could have been mistaken, yet she believed him and felt safe enough to go back to sleep. It twisted his stomach in ways he didn’t understand. 

He snatches up the glistening object. A golden ring with a green gemstone. He recognizes it immediately as the one Sephrin almost lost when they visited the goblin camp. One of the goblins had stolen it, and Sephrin managed to take it back. Of course, it incited a little brawl, but Astarion certainly didn’t mind. He smirks as he recalls how Sephrin shot the one goblin right in the eye at point-blank range. Though his smirk disappears as he remembers the horror on her face, how wide her eyes were as she gazed upon the goblin’s lifeless corpse. 

_ “Don’t ever hesitate like that again,” _ he had said to her.  _ “There are two kinds of people in this world: those who fight for survival...and those who are killed. You cannot rely on luck or fate or others to keep you alive. Only yourself. If someone throws a punch, you punch harder. If someone stabs you in the gut, you stab them in the eye. Don’t. Hold. Back.”  _

Frowning, he pushes the thoughts away and focuses on the ring. The band is real gold, but he cannot tell the quality of it. The green gem is rather dull, not a clean cut so it doesn’t catch much light. At certain angles, it almost looks black. His thumb notices the inscription before his eyes do. As he brings it closer to inspect, he feels Sephrin stir against him. 

“My mother’s,” she murmurs sleepily. “Father gave it to her.” 

_ With love, Adric Roleth. _ His brows furrow as he reads the inscription over again. 

“Roleth?” he blinks, looking at the girl. Sleepily, she returns the gaze. “You mean to tell me you’re Adric Roleth’s daughter?”

She nods. “Thought I said that.”

Astarion chuckles, and suddenly things start to make sense. Sephrin had told him her father was a well-respected historian who mingled with nobility. In all honesty, he should have realized it sooner. In fact, he had even stolen her book the one time out of curiosity, and she had admitted that it was written by the man. If Astarion had only paid attention to the author’s name! 

“You never told me  _ that _ , my dear,” he playfully chides. 

More awake, Sephrin props herself up on one elbow. “Did you know him?” 

Astarion sees the glimmer of hope in her eyes. A shame he has to stomp it out. “No. But I knew  _ of _ him. Knew people who had met him. Never had the opportunity to meet him myself. Which is good, all things considered.” Had the two met, Astarion would have most certainly taken him to Cazador. Wouldn’t that have been something to bond over? “Had he ever been to Baldur’s Gate?”

“At least once that I know of,” Sephrin replies, gently plucking the ring from his hand. If she understood the implication Astarion had been making, she hid it. Perhaps she didn’t want to think of Astarion leading her father to his death. “My mother was from Baldur’s Gate. He met her there. Fell in love.” 

Sephrin examines the ring, studying each facet of it as if she had never seen the ring before in her life. Astarion keeps quiet as she does. “You know, my father often tried to tell me about my mother. How they met, what she was like, why they didn’t live together. But everytime he tried, I always demanded he’d tell me something else, anything else. I never cared to hear about her. I didn’t know her, so I didn’t care. And now I’ve lost both of them.” She sighs before looking up at him. “Does that make me a terrible daughter?”

Another chuckle. “Darling, you’re asking the wrong Vampire spawn.” 

Surprisingly, this makes Sephrin smile, her nose scrunching up before handing him back the ring. “Can you put this back in the bag?” 

But he presses the ring back into her hand. “You should wear it. You’d look stunning in gold.” He tilts his head, studying her face. “I can see you with some golden chains in your hair. Gold looks good on brunettes.”

His flirting has the desired effect. She blushes. “Wh-what? No, no! I...gold is too…”

“Flashy?” he suggests with a cock of his brow. But he narrows his eyes, studying her face again. Her cheeks pinken under his gaze. “Hm, yes, silver would suit you better, if done correctly. Subtle, but delicate. Perhaps a circlet studded with sapphires to match your eyes.” He caresses her cheek to highlight the remark. 

Sephrin shudders and Astarion tries very hard not to laugh at her. He enjoys getting her riled up, especially with how easy it is to do so. When she starts to blush like that, he can’t help but wonder what salacious thoughts are running through her mind. More importantly, how can he get her to enjoy those thoughts? 

Finally, she manages to speak. “I, I...jewelry isn’t really...it gets in the way. Especially rings. Very difficult to write while wearing a ring.” 

But he doesn’t let up. “Wear it around your neck then,” he suggests, his eyes trailing downward. 

“Wh-what?”

Instead of responding, he scoots closer to his bag, rooting around while still holding the ring. He digs up a few leather strips, examining each one before finding the thinnest one. As he returns to her, he threads the strip through the ring before tying it around her neck so it loosely dangles. When he’s done, he tilts her chin up so he can examine his work. 

“Would look much better on a chain, of course, but it suits you.” 

Sephrin’s fingers brush against the ring, fiddling with it, her mind still trying to process just what is happening. Why is he so insistent about this? And why does the way he’s looking at her make her face heat up like this? 

Something hits the side of their tent, causing Sephrin to squeak. “Come on, lovebirds,” they hear Wyll call out. “We know you two are awake.”

With a very dramatic roll of the eyes, Astarion sighs, getting up. “Come, dear, we are being beckoned, and you need to eat.”

The two of them quickly throw on more suitable clothes before emerging from the tent. Seems they are the last to get up, per usual thanks to Sephrin. Astarion does not mind making the others wait, but Sephrin always feels guilty about it. She comes out with a blush, though whether from being late or from the lovebirds comment is unclear. 

Gale hands Sephrin a bowl of stew as the two make their way to the campfire. Seprhin takes a seat but Astarion stands off to the side, which isn’t uncommon for him. Since he doesn’t have to pretend to eat anymore, he doesn’t see any reason to join them for their meals. He hovers nearby, conveniently close enough to Sephrin to see into her bowl.

As the group eats, they discuss their route for the day. For whatever reason, they seem to have trouble getting anywhere in this journey. Something always seems to thwart them from finding the githyanki creche. Somehow, they keep getting turned around or sent on some errand or other. When they had first started this little journey together, these discussions were more like arguments, especially as far as Lae’zel was concerned. She seemed to truly believe her ideas were the only right ones. Since then, however, as she has spent more time in a realm she was not used to, she has been more willing to concede with the others, as far as directions go at least. 

Sephrin keeps out of it, but unlike before when she would try to tune them out, she finds herself paying attention, her eyes occasionally flitting from speaker to speaker. Still, she doesn’t offer her opinions on the matter. Truth be told, she has no idea where in the world they are. She’s never left her home in Neverwinter before. 

A shrill squawk resonates nearby, disrupting the conversation. All of them turn toward the noise, alert and ready to jump to action as needed. Just beyond the reach of their camp, a small, dowdy creature watches them, its matted feathers desperately trying to ruffle. It squawks at them again, pacing back and forth on four legs, watching them intently with its golden eyes. 

“A little early in the day to see an owlbear,” Wyll frowns. He relaxes a bit, which the others notice, but he still watches the creature. “They normally only hunt at night. Little one must have wandered off from the nest. Could mean mama’s nearby.”

“He’s from the goblin camp,” Sephrin says suddenly, studying the creature. It squawks at them again. “I remember seeing him there.”

Shadowheart cocks a brow. “The goblin camp? That feels like ages ago. It’s probably been wandering the woods for days. Probably smells our food.” 

Indeed, the cub seems to sniff at the air as it paces, trying to decide if it was worth the risk. Before Glynren could suggest scaring it off, he notices Sephrin fishing out some meat from her bowl. He groans. “Sephrin, don’t you dare…”

But the girl is already standing up, placing her bowl on the ground before delicately stepping over the log she was sitting on. Glynren calls out to his sister again, but she pointedly ignores him. Each step she takes towards the cub is deliberate; she walks slowly so as to not frighten the cub and keeps her hands out in front of her, her eyes watching its feet. It rears up on its hind legs and squawks at her again, but when it comes down, it takes a few steps back. Its plumage tries to stand erect but it has too much mud caked on. 

A few yards away from the cub, Sephrin stops. Slowly, she crouches down and places the meat in a neat, little pile. Then, she slowly rises, just enough so she can take a few steps back. Once she’s a good meter away, she sinks back down, resting on her knees, her hands on the ground in front of her. Again, the cub squawks, trying to appear tough, but the smell of food is alluring. It sniffs the air, then brings its beak down to sniff the ground. Sephrin watches as it cautiously follows the scent, never taking its eyes off of her. Once it gets to the food, however, it gobbles it up in seconds flat, smacking its beak once it's done. It stares at Sephrin a few moments more before squawking again and suddenly darting off into the woods. 

Glynren lets out an audible sigh of relief as Sephrin stands up, brushing the dirt off of her hands. “Why did you do that?”

“Bah!” Lae’zel scowls. “Now that you’ve fed it, we’ll never be rid of the beast. It’ll be back for more rations, mark my words.”

As she returns to the campfire, Sephrin looks unperturbed, picking her bowl up to resume feeding herself. Ignoring the comments, she studies the dying embers of the fire. 

Next to her, meanwhile, Gale looks at her in disbelief. “You do realize those things grow, do you not?” 

Sephrin purses her lips. “I do,” she finally answers. 

“Teeth and talons first,” he stresses. “It might look cute now, but when it grows up-”

“I’m not stupid!” Sephrin clenches her jaw, eyes snapping to Gale. “I also know they don’t feed on people unless left no other option and that a cub relies heavily on its mother for survival. The little one may die on its own, but I’d rather not have it starve to death if I can help it. If destiny decides it is time for it to die, then so be it, but at least I tried.” 

For a moment, it seems like the wizard doesn’t know what to say. But he manages to find his words. “Sometimes I fear you are much too kind for your own good.” 

Sephrin studies the contents of her bowl as she continues to eat. “At any rate,” Wyll interrupts with a sigh. “The little bugger will be back, most likely after we leave. We’ll need to secure our food supplies.” 

Growling, Lae’zel tosses her empty bowl to the side. “Another waste of time. We have been fortunate enough to not have turned yet, but we can only remain so lucky for so long. We need to get moving.”

Glynren holds his hands up. “Easy, Lae’zel, easy. It shouldn’t take us long to make sure the camp is owlbear cub proof. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes tops.”

A sneer. “Much too long. The days in this realm go by too fast. We’re losing daylight.” 

“I’ll do it,” Sephrin offers as she finishes up her stew, licking the spoon. “I’ll make sure everything is secure and catch up if I can. Or I’ll stay behind and keep an eye on things.” 

“I’ll help!” Astarion pipes in. As Sephrin looks over, she expects to see his usual smirk and gleam in his eyes, the ones that say he’ll certainly help but not in the way that will be useful. Instead, she’s met with rather evasive eyes that, when they do meet her, seem distant and preoccupied. She stares down into the empty bowl. What happened? He seemed so lively earlier. 

Seeing the scowl on her brother’s face, Gale clears his throat. “And I can as well. You four go on ahead. I’ll open up a portal by your location when we are finished up here.”

With that out of the way, breakfast is quickly finished rather quietly, and the designated four head out. As he passes, Glynren stops in front of Astarion. The vampire cocks a brow at him as if to ask what he wants. The two stare each other down for a few moments before, finally, Glynren sighs. 

“Don’t let her feed any more monsters,” he says in a rather defeated tone. He doesn’t look at Astarion as he says it, as if he can only bear to look at the vampire when angry. Despite the tone, Astarion glares at the younger elf. But Glynren doesn’t notice. He’s already walking away to join Lae’zel, Wyll, and Shadowheart, the last of which  _ does  _ notice the strange, brooding anger boiling in the vampire but says nothing about it as the group heads out. 

Grunting, Gale pushes himself up from his seat, wincing slightly. It doesn’t escape Sephrin’s notice. “You’re hurt?” 

“Hm?” Gale doesn’t look down at her, instead moving to collect the empty bowls. “Oh, no, no, I’m fine. This is just what happens to you when you start getting older. Start falling apart. Bones start creaking. You have one foot in the grave at all times.”

Frowning, Sephrin gets up and starts tying up the sacks of food. It’s not like the party just leaves the food sitting out whenever they travel. After all, their camp is in the middle of the forest. Any creature could just wander in and take it if they did that. But lately, they had gotten lax in putting it away when they were in the camp, and Gale had been restocking the stew. On their travels a few days ago, they had stumbled upon a farm, the owners with their heads bashed in and the animals nowhere to be seen. No one could properly argue helping themselves to some of the crops. The food was only going to go to waste otherwise. Now, the group has more food than before that they have to watch over. 

“You’re not that old,” Sephrin tells Gale, though as she says it, she realizes she doesn’t actually know how old the wizard is. Still, assessing him now, she stands by her statement. He doesn’t look old, but the way he’s carrying himself makes her think he’s hiding some sort of injury. 

Gale makes the mistake of sparing her a glance. The worry in her eyes makes him sigh and stop what he’s doing. Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he studies Sephrin before looking over at Astarion, who, despite offering to help, has been sulking against a tree watching the two of them work. Abjectly, he sighs. 

“Very well. You have trusted me enough to let me in. I suppose I can return the favor.” Though he gives a pointed look to Astarion. “I don’t trust you, but I trust  _ her _ to keep you in line.”

Astarion’s only response is a sneer and a roll of the eyes. The silence remark makes Sephrin even more worried about his mood. But she doesn’t have the chance to dwell on it as Gale continues. 

“Some things are easier to explain than others, but first, let me say this: we’ve been traveling together for a while now, and during these travels, I’ve been observing you.” Those words make Sephrin freeze in place, but Gale chuckles and places a hand on her shoulder. “Easy there, Sephrin. I just want to let you know that I like what I’ve seen. Despite me scolding you earlier, I admire your kindness.”

Like a child being scolded, Sephrin looks down at her feet. “I’m, I’m not kind; I’m merely polite.”

Her reaction makes Gale furrow his brows and even glance at Astarion, but the Vampire only looks elsewhere with his arms crossed as if he’s uninterested in the scene. “Regardless of your opinion of yourself, I trust you, Sephrin. So I hope you can continue to trust me with what I’m about to tell you. I say this because there’s something I desperately need, but while I’ll tell you what that something is, I won’t tell you why.”

A snort comes from the Vampire. “And you all judge  _ me _ for feeding from her. I at least had the courtesy to tell her why.”

While it’s a snarky response, it’s a response nevertheless. It makes Sephrin feel a little better to hear Astarion speak, enough to make her not bring up the fact that Astarion had tried to feed from her while she slept. She takes a breath. “You, you haven’t given me a reason to not trust you yet, Gale.”

Gale smirks. “I’ll note the ‘yet’ you gave me just now. But good enough.” Sephrin notices that he suddenly looks different, almost embarrassed. “You see, I have a...condition.”

Another snort from Astarion. “Is  _ that _ what they call it now?”

“A condition different from the tadpole but just as deadly,” Gale presses on, pointedly ignoring Astarion. He fixes his gaze on Sephrin, so much that it’s too much for Sephrin to bear and she has to look away. “The only way to ‘appease’ this condition...is for me to take powerful magical artifacts and absorb the Weave inside.”

“What?” Sephrin meant for the bemused question to remain and inside thought, but it slips out. 

If Gale takes offense to it, he doesn’t show it. His face remains serious. “It’s been days since I’ve last consumed an artifact, Sephrin. Since before the abduction. It is imperative I find and consume powerful strands of Weave at the earliest possible juncture.” 

Sephrin nods as she processes all of this. “I see. I, I suppose we’ll have to, to keep an eye out for such items.” 

“Well, actually,” Gale gives her an uneasy smile. “You see, you already have one in your possession.” 

The girl frowns. “I do?”

With a nod of his head, Gale notably lowers his gaze toward her chest. For a moment, she feels her face heat up. But before she can say anything, something grips her wrist tightly and yanks her away from Gale. 

“ _ No. _ ” she hears Astarion hiss behind her. She realizes he’s the one gripping her arm. She’s not sure when he left the tree, but it would have taken him a few steps to reach her. He was so quiet and fast she didn’t notice. 

Somewhat patiently, Gale gives Astarion a stormy glare. “I meant the ring.” 

“The what?” Sephrin’s hand instinctively reaches for her neck. 

“I don’t care,” Astarion replies, still clutching Sephrin’s other arm. “The answer is still  _ no _ .” 

Her fingers toy with the ring around her neck. The ring Astarion had finally convinced her to wear. “Th-This is my mother’s ring,” she whispers. 

Gale’s face falters, giving Sephrin a sympathetic look. “I apologize; I did not know.” He pauses, pursing his lips. “But…”

“ _ But _ ?!” Astarion laughs harshly. “It’s her dead mother’s ring, and you’re  _ still _ going to ask her for it?”

Defensively, Gale puts his hands up. He focuses his attention on Sephrin rather than Astarion. “ _ If _ I were to absorb its Weave, it would leave the ring intact, just powerless.” 

Sephrin clutches the ring, hardly able to focus on the situation at hand. Her mind tries to catch up. “I...I didn’t...I didn’t even know it had magic. I don’t even know what it does. Why, why would my father give my mother a magic ring?”

Gale keeps his hands up as if pacifying a scared animal. “I’m not sure, Sephrin. I could examine it and find out what it does first if that would make you feel better. And will you let go of her? I’m not going to hurt her.”

The last part was to Astarion, who actually grips Sephrin tighter at the question. It’s only when Sephrin whimpers does he loosen his hold. Sephrin tilts her head up to study Astarion. He doesn’t look away from the wizard, a predatory gleam in his eyes. 

“Astarion,” Sephrin whispers gently. “I’m okay.”

He hesitates, but finally, Astarion lets her go. Still, he hovers by her side. “Of course you are, darling,” he quips with his usual snark, but something about it unnerves Sephrin. “Surely you can hold your own against your own mentor, and certainly you wouldn’t let him take advantage of you.”

“Sephrin,” Gale interjects, trying to keep the Vampire out of the conversation. “Let me examine the ring. I’ll determine what it does, and then you can decide what you want to do. I promise.”

She looks from man to man, not so much to figure out what to do but to make sure the two aren’t going to kill one another. Part of her wants to just give Gale the ring, to not even figure out what it does. What would be the point? Knowing what the ring does isn’t going to make her any closer to her mother than she is now. And yet, she cannot help but be curious. Her father had given her mother this ring, and in turn, her mother had given it to her. Did the ring serve a purpose? And if so, what purpose did it serve? 

Would she be losing the only link to her mother if she gave that magic to Gale? 

“Are you a lich?” 

Gale blinks at the question. Even Astarion’s cold glare drops momentarily as he looks questioningly at Sephrin. But she looks at Gale expectantly, with the curiosity of a child. 

“A lich?” Gale echoes, slightly annoyed as if he’s hoping he misheard her. “Did you just ask me if I’m a lich?”

While Sephrin blushes a bit, she shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that incredulous of me to ask. You say catastrophe will befall us if you were to die; you need to absorb magic from magical items. Perhaps it’s not exactly what a lich does, but it seems rather...well, rather necromantic in a way if you think about it.” She tilts her head to one side, concentrating on the air as if reading a book. “Not all liches are skeletal monstrosities. Archliches are normally good people who continue their lifes’ work with their immortality. They even tend to look as they did in life.” 

Again, Gale blinks at her. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know, I’m starting to miss when you didn’t talk at all.” The second the words are out of his mouth, he holds a hand up, though Sephrin still flinches like she’s been slapped. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just…look,” he pauses, placing his hand on her shoulder once more. Astarion steps closer, but Gale ignores him. “I hadn’t realized the ring has such an intrinsic value to you. How about you take the day to think it over. I’m in need of magic, but I can go another day without it. And who knows? Maybe something else will turn up in the meantime.”

Pursing her lips, Sephrin toys with the ring. Think it over. Yes, yes, she needs to think it over, process all of this. She nods to Gale, who then smiles and nods and pats her shoulder before releasing her. 

“Good,” he says, his eyes sweeping about the camp. “I think I’m going to stay here, keep an eye on things and conserve my strength. I can open a portal for the two of you to reach the others, as I promised.”

As he begins to open the portal, Sephrin frowns. “Are you su-”

“Excellent,” Astarion interrupts, taking hold of Sephrin’s hand. “Have fun with the owlbear when it undoubtedly returns.” With that, he drags Sephrin through the portal, not giving the girl a chance to speak. 

__________________

As the sun drips through the trees, the purple loosestrifes dance in the breeze. While their sweet aroma perfumes the air, Glynren frowns, constantly glancing around, eyes trying to search through the brush. 

“They’ll catch up,” Wyll says, figuring Glynren is worried about his sister. 

But even with the reassurance, Glynren continues to frown. “I’m not too worried about that. She’s safe with Gale. I just...does something seem off about this place?”

“It’s far too bright,” Lae’zel sneers, glaring at a nearby wisteria as if it was the culprit. 

Shadowheart waves a hand through the air. “These flowers are making me lightheaded. Pretty sure prostitutes wear less perfume.” 

Wyll sighs. It seems his fellow companions aren’t enjoying the beautiful day like he was. Pulling out their map, he diverts them through a little path. Surely one of these days, they were going to get closer to finding the creche, or to finding any way to save them from their blight. He’d get the tadpole out, find Mizora and deal with her, and find a way to stop whatever was going on with this so-called Absolute. 

He opens his mouth to say something when he suddenly starts coughing. The others turn to him, Glynren concerned. Then it hits him, a putrid odor that permeates the air, overpowering the flowers. 

“Well, now it smells like a dead prostitute,” Shadowheart mutters, covering her mouth. 

A hearty chuckle erupts not far from them. “Forgive me, travelers. That stench would be me.”

From around the bend, a stranger approaches, a friendly smile spreading across his features. Still, the group eye him warily, not wanting to fall for a trap. The man seems to do the same to them, though he keeps smiling. “Powdered iron-vine,” he continues, gesturing to himself. “Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me. An old hunter’s trick: if you can’t mask your scent, spoil it.”

“You’ve certainly spoiled  _ my _ appetite…” Shadowheart mutters, stepping further back. 

Wyll cocks a brow at him. “You’re a hunter?” His eyes scan the man, his pristine clothes, his clean weapons. 

The man chuckles again. “Not what you expect, right? Perhaps that’s why I’ve survived so long.” As he looks at the four of them, his smile drops, and for a moment, he grows serious. “You would be wise to look past the seeming of things if you intend to bargain with the lady of this house.”

“What lady?” Wyll asks.

“What house?” Lae’zel asks at the same time. 

Giving them a strange look, he gestures to a sign not too far from where they were standing, covered in vines and flowers. A little painted teapot sits proudly in the center. Glynren blinks at it. “How the fuck did we miss that?”

The stranger laughs, relaxing around them. “The beauty of the place will do that to you. It’s a charming sight, to be sure. But the prettiest web still has a spider sitting in its center. Her kind has been hidden among us since the first darkness, and their knowledge is matched only by their spite. Know how to ask her, and she’ll share her knowledge if you’re fool enough to pay the price that is.”

From her place to the side, Shadowheart cocks a brow at him. “And are you fool enough for it?”

Another laugh. “Of course! I’m a hunter who lost his prey, and here I am seeking help from something worse. But she thrives on suffering. Once she hears what awaits my quarry when I catch him, she will help.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Wyll tilts his head. “What are you hunting that you’d be seeking help from the Fey?” 

“Is it a Gith?” Shadowheart smirks. “Because we have one of those.” Lae’zel, of course, scowls at her. 

Fey? Glynren furrows his brow at Wyll. What was he talking about? 

But the stranger frowns and shakes his head. “Telling you could put you in danger. I don’t want that on my conscience.” 

Now Glynren looks to the stranger. “But couldn’t  _ not _ telling us  _ also _ put us in danger? We might run into whatever it is you’re looking for.”

The stranger sighs. “That’s a fair point. Very well. I hunt a Vampire Spawn named Astarion. I’m bound to bring him back to Baldur’s Gate...alive.” 

It is only by sheer luck that the stranger doesn’t notice the hush that falls over the group or the shared glances they give to one another. Astarion? He’s hunting Astarion? 

Glynren is the first to speak. “Why? Why, erm, this particular vampire? And why alive.”

The hunter puts up his hands. “That I cannot tell you. But one less Vampire Spawn in the world is better for all of us.” 

Astarion. This man is hunting Astarion. With just a snap of his fingers, Glynren could be rid of that pest forever. His sister could finally be free of whatever morbid spell the Vampire has her under. He could finally have his sister back. She wouldn’t even have to know he was the one to do it. 

So why does the thought of it make his stomach churn?

With a cock of his brow, the stranger seems to finally catch on to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “Have you...met this person?”

Without hesitation, and with as much conviction as he can muster, Glynren shakes his head. “No, or if I have, I didn’t know it.”

Sighing, the man shakes his head. “Well, if you run into him, let me know. And stay safe, with him and with the lady of the house. If you excuse me, I have some more preparations to, well, prepare.” 

As the man saunters off, Glynren lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. With a breathy chuckle, Shadowheart shakes her head. “I thought for sure you would have sold him out.”   
  


Glynren doesn’t respond. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Wyll smiles warmly at the elf, saying nothing and yet saying a million things with the gesture alone. He’s grateful for it. It helps him feel less confused about what he’s just done. 

“Come on,” Glynren pushes the incident out of his mind. “Let’s go see this lady the hunter was talking about. If she’s as powerful and knowledgeable as he claims, maybe she can help us with the tadpoles.”

“Aye,” Wyll replies, his face growing serious. “Or she could put us in more danger.”

Still, the four head down the path toward the teahouse. 

___________________

“I’m going to kill that wizard.”

Trailing behind, Sephrin tries to keep up with the grouchy vampire. Ever since the two of them emerged from the portal, he’s been in a sour mood. The two found themselves on a beautiful trail, but their companions were nowhere to be found. After searching the surrounding area for what felt like twenty minutes, Astarion stormed off on a warpath, Sephrin scurrying after him. 

“We could be going the wrong way,” she pipes up, tugging at the ring around her neck. “We ought to stay put just in case-”

“In case  _ what _ , darling,” Astarion suddenly whips around to face Sephrin. His eyes flash with malice. “In case they come looking for us? Or better yet, in case the answer to all of our problems comes crashing through the trees in that very spot? Stay put. Pah!” 

Again, he’s off, smacking branches out of his way. Sephrin ducks under them as they swing back into place. What did she do? Why was he so angry, and why did he seem to take it out on her? She opens her mouth to ask, but a joyless laugh bursts from his mouth.

“Of course!” he says to himself. As Sephrin catches up to him, she hears a dim rushing sound. “Of  _ fucking _ course.” 

Despite his outburst, they continue in the direction he was going, and the sound gets louder and louder. Just before they enter the clearing, Sephrin figures out what it is. A river. About 300 feet wide and loud. She watches as Astarion searches up and down the bank. Perhaps now he will turn around and they can go back the way they came. 

Instead, Astarion starts to stomp down the bank in a seemingly arbitrary direction. Sephrin has to jog to keep up with his long strides. “Astarion,” she calls out, yelling loud enough so he could hear her over the rapids, but he ignores her. “Astarion, what...what’s going on?”

A little way up the river, Astarion finds what he was looking for, rocks jutting out of the water. Swiftly, he leaps to the first one. “What’s going on is we’re lost in the middle of fuckall nowhere because of your lousy tutor, and now we’re crossing a bloody river because the universe conspires against me.”

As he hops to the next rock, Sephrin bites her lip, glancing at the river as it rushes past the rocks. Groaning, she hops from foot to foot, frantically glancing around. Finally, she musters her courage and leaps onto the first rock, squealing as she tries to find her balance. The surface of the rock was smaller than she expected, and the spray from the river makes it slick. 

“Astarion, please!” she pleads with him. “Talk to me. Why are you so…?”

“Pissy?” he retorts, hopping away to the third rock. He turns to her. “Oh, I’m very sorry, dear, if my behavior has upset you. But that’s what you get from harboring beasts, isn’t it?”

Harboring beasts? What? She is about to ask him to clarify when he turns to jump to the fourth rock, placing him about halfway across the river. She groans. There’s no way she can shout loud enough for him to hear her from that distance. She stares at the rock ahead of her, trying to gauge the gap. But she has no idea what she would even do with that knowledge. Taking a breath, she jumps to the next one, arms flailing about as she leans forward. But she manages to stay upright. A sigh of relief. 

“Astarion, what are you talking about?” She calls out to him again, her mind racing with what could have possibly set him off as well as focusing on not falling over. This morning seemed so peaceful. He was so sweet and gentle with her. Then breakfast happened and…

“Are...are you jealous of the owlbear?” She feels stupid as she asks it, but it’s the only thing she can think of. Because until that point, he was his usual self. 

Again, he whips around to face her. “Of course I’m not  _ jealous  _ of the bloody owlbear!” 

“Then why are you acting like you are?” she yells back, squaring her shoulders. “It wasn’t until it showed up that you started sulking about.”

“Oh, I’m sulking now?”

“Yes, you are!” Sephrin does her best to put on a menacing face, but she knows her youthful appearance makes it hard for others to take her seriously. She assumes all Astarion sees is a pout. “You’re being snippy with me, you almost bit Gale’s head off, and you won’t just tell me what’s going on!”

Another mirthless laugh. “Perfect choice of words, my dear. Absolutely perfect. You really ought to work on your training skills. They say pets shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds them.”

The realization hits her like a slap to the face. “Is that how you think I view you? As a pet?”

No reply. Astarion’s face hardens, but he looks away from her, crossing his arms. Now, if anyone looks like they’re pouting, it’s Astarion. A pet. It all makes sense now.  _ “Is that why you let me drink from you? I was some poor soul in trouble, and you pitied me?”  _ While it still doesn’t make sense to Sephrin, she can practically see Astarion’s thoughts. She imagined what it had looked like from his eyes, watching her feed the owlbear cub, thinking back to that night she first let him drink from her, wondering if that’s how she viewed him, a helpless little cub in need of coddling. It seems ridiculous to her, but she knows that, if that’s what is bothering him, it is a big deal to him. 

She needs to get closer. There’s no way for her to continue this conversation by shouting over the river. With Astarion still sulking, Sephrin knows she’s going to have to be the one to close the gap. 

Taking a breath, she hops to the next rock. 

But the surface is slicker than she thought. 

Headfirst, she stumbles into the waterway, bubbles bursting at the surface. Her arms flail about as she tries to find up. Gods, why can’t she find up? 

Cursing under his breath, Astarion tries to keep his eyes trained on Sephrin, the current dragging her off. His eyes dart to the riverbed, then back to the water. With a growl and a roll of his eyes, Astarion jumps in after her. The rapids swiftly sweep him up, though jumping in willingly gives him the advantage of keeping his head above water. He scans for Sephrin while also staying alert of the rocks that cross his path. She hasn’t surfaced yet, which isn’t a good sign. 

Gritting his teeth, he sees her finally break through, clawing at a rock as she passes it. As he reaches the same rock, he catches it, surveying the river in front of him before diving forward. If he’s to catch up to her, he’s going to have to be proactive. As far as he could see, the water is clear of obstacles for this stretch. At least he’s swimming with the current and not against it. He’s blind in the water, though, his eyes squeezed shut as he grimaces. With each stroke, he feels around, hands touching nothing much the water around him until finally a bit of fabric brushes his fingertips. He tries to snatch it, but it slips away. So he surges forward, hands clutching at the first thing he feels, which feels like hair. It’ll hurt, but he yanks it toward him, clawing the rest of her as their bodies meet. 

With a loud gasp, they break the surface, Sephrin clinging to Astarion as he steers them toward the shore. Easier said than done, but as long as he doesn’t fight the current, they make it. Once his knees touch the bank, however, Astarion collapses, letting go of Sephrin. Quickly, she gets on her hands and knees, assessing him. His eyes are still shut, his face coiled in agony as he lies on his side. Sephrin doesn’t think he can drown, but she’s not going to find out. Scrambling to her feet, she grabs his arms and tries to drag him out, but her boots sink and slip in the mud. So she stands over him, feet on either side, and sort of pushes/pulls him. It’s slow going, but she manages to get him out of the water. Panting, she collapses to her knees. 

“Astarion?” she coughs, trying to examine him again. Now that she doesn’t have to worry about him drowning, she notices his hands and face appear red as if he had been in a scalding bath. She looks down at her own hands. Besides a bit pruned, they look fine. Frantically, she tries to move his arm so she can examine more of him. The movement causes him to groan, and he bats her hands away.

“I’m fine,” he grunts, curling up tighter. “It just hurts. I’ll be fine.”

“Hurts? What, what hurts?” Her eyes still dart over him. Did he get cut up by the rocks? 

“The water,” he strains, gritting his teeth. 

The water. Sephrin looks to the river. How could she have been so stupid? What’s the point of reading about Vampires if she’s not going to remember the details? Running water hurts Vampires. She always thought the notion ridiculous. How could it possibly hurt? And why?

But the answers to those questions don’t matter now. What matters is Astarion. Brushing her bangs out of her face, Sephrin tries to catch her breath. “What, what can I do? Would, would blood help? I can give you blood.” She starts gathering her hair up, moving it away from her neck. 

Astarion groans. “Not yet, not yet. I’m...give me a moment. I need a moment. I’m...I’m too weak right now.”

Sephrin looks around, feeling helpless. “I’ll, I’ll go look for help. I’ll try to find the others. We can get you back to camp.”

As she tries to stand, Astarion grips her wrist tightly. He says nothing but holds onto her. So she kneels back down, sticking close by. She watches as he lies there, writhing in pain. Every so often, he twitches suddenly and violently. Shifting, she sits down properly, and as gently as she can, she pulls Astarion's head onto her lap. He whimpers at first, but as she starts to run her fingers through his hair, he loosens up. Her fingers glide through the soaked curls, carefully avoiding his face and scalp. 

“This is all my fault,” she whispers soothingly. “If I hadn’t fallen in, you wouldn’t be hurt.” 

Astarion coughs, which sounds like a weak, breathy laugh. “Well, now you’ve got what you’ve wanted: a weak, pathetic monster to coddle.”

Sephrin frowns, but she continues stroking his hair. “You’re not a monster, Astarion. Not to me.”

“The others certainly think so. Your brother-”

“I don’t care what they think,” she interrupts, her voice remaining in that soothing tone. “I’m my own person, Astarion. I see no monster in you. I don’t care how pointy your teeth are or that you live off blood or any of that. That doesn’t make you a monster. Not to me.”

The two grow quiet. When she looks down at Astarion, she can’t tell if he’s still awake or if he’s fallen asleep, but either way, she stays quiet so he can rest. She finds herself getting tired as well. Almost drowning will do that to a person. Toying with her ring, Sephrin assesses the situation they find themselves in. They’re lost in the woods, unsure where the rest of their group is. Astarion is weak but slower recovering his strength. She should be panicking. 

But as Astarion’s hand grabs hers, Sephrin can’t help but feel a sense of calm, a sense of peace. 


End file.
